


The Ultimate Gift

by spikesgirl58



Series: Twenty Five Days of Christmas [19]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon is being a Scrooge and Illya thinks he know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ultimate Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arcadii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcadii/gifts).



Waking to pain was nothing new for Napoleon Solo.  It seemed to be a more frequent visitor these days and it always overstayed its welcome.

He struggled to his feet and tried to get his bearings.  It was very dark and the immediate area seemed surrounded by something, but he couldn’t see what.

He moved a hand to his chest and pressed.  His chest ached so much he’d swear he was having a heart attack.  Yet, frequently Illya accused him of not having a heart, and had just that afternoon in fact.

“Napoleon, it’s Christmas Eve and I have things to do.”

“You are preaching to the choir, partner, but we need to get these reports done.”

“Why?  No one is going to look at them until after the New Year.”

“Because I **want** them done.  I want a clean slate.”

There had been some tense moments to follow, but that was nothing new.  They were still trying to find the balance between being partners at work and lovers the rest of the time.  It was harder than Napoleon thought it would be.

And now this.

“Illya?”  He kept his voice down, in case THRUSH was listening.  He tried to take a step, but he stumbled on something.  Between that and the ache beneath his hand, it was nearly impossible to move.

That’s when Napoleon saw it -- a thin strip of light.  He shuffled forward, nearly fell, but caught himself.  Usually his night vision was better than this, but all he could see were lumps and piles of stuff.

“Good grief, THRUSH has thrown me out with the trash,” he muttered.  When his comment drew no reaction, he called out much louder this time, “Illya?”

Nothing.  Napoleon sighed and moved his feet again.  This time he did fall and landed on something hard and brittle.  It snapped beneath his outstretched hand. When it did, his heart stabbed him for he recognized the feel of bone beneath his hand.

“What the hell is going on?”

After what seemed like an eternity of tripping, falling, and staggering back to his feet, Napoleon reached the strip of light.  It was coming from beneath a door.  Napoleon reached out and found the knob after a moment.  Surprisingly enough, the door wasn’t locked and it opened easily, the light nearly blinding him.

Instinctively, Napoleon turned away and that’s when he saw them – hundreds of bodies, some nothing more than skeletons.  That’s when he abruptly recognized a crumpled figure – Mr. Waverly.  Then he saw April and Mark, all long dead.  Aunt Amy, his parents, everyone he knew… and there propped up by the door was Illya.

“Illya!”  Napoleon dropped to his knees and grabbed a bloody hand.

The blond head jerked up and near- white lips twisted into a cruel smile.  “There you go, Napoleon.  It was just what you wanted for Christmas - a clean slate.  Everyone in your life is gone now.”  Illya lifted his Walther to his head and fired.

Napoleon sat up and winced in pain.  Again his hand flew to his chest.  However, he was in familiar surroundings, his bedroom, and the pain he was experiencing was heartburn, thanks to _Senora_ Karem’s spicy Mexican food.

He clicked on the lamp and glanced over to the other side of the bed.  It was empty and Napoleon felt a twist of panic.  Then he saw a thin strip of light wiggling beneath the closed bedroom door.

He got up and grabbed a robe.  It was cool in the bedroom at this time of night.  Napoleon held his breath and opened the door.  Nothing was abnormal or out of place.  The warm glow coming from the living room told him that the Christmas tree lights were on.

He stopped at the bathroom and took some Alka-Seltzer, forcing the stuff down.  Then he went in search of his partner.

Illya was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the tree.  Napoleon knew his partner was aware of his presence the minute Napoleon came into the room for the blond head turned slightly and then returned to the tree.

“Illya, what’s wrong?”  Napoleon sat down beside Illya. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“ _Senora_ Karem’s _enchiladas_.  I didn’t think I was capable of indigestion.”  He smiled wryly.  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Wish you had, I just had one lollapalooza of a nightmare.”

“Beats being visited by three ghosts, I suppose.”

“Have I been that bad recently?”  Illya’s non answer spoke volumes.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“I do.  I have. “

“Funny.”

“No, I mean, we are together all the time now, except when an assignment separates us.  All we seem to talk about is work, even when we are in bed.  It has to stop.”

“You want to move out?”  Napoleon struggled to keep his voice even and calm.

“No.  I want more for us than just UNCLE.”  Illya faced him.  “If just for Christmas, give me the ultimate gift.  Give me, us -- no work, no UNCLE, just two people spending some quality time together.  Could you do that?”

Napoleon smiled and nodded.  “I can.”  Then he burped and hit his chest.  “Mmm, _Chili Relleno.”_

“I vote next year we go someplace else for Christmas Eve dinner.”

“I agree.  The tree is pretty.”

“I love the lights.  There is something very tranquil in them.”

“Are you coming to bed?”

“Not just yet.”  Illya returned staring at the tree.

Napoleon sat quietly for a moment then stood and walked back to the bedroom.  He grabbed a couple of pillows and another blanket from the closet.  Then he returned to the couch.

“Shift it, Kuryakin.”  He jerked his head and, after a moment, Illya stood.  Napoleon plopped down the pillows and stretched out on his side.  He patted the cushion and Illya grinned.  It took them a minute of jockeying around to find a good position, but at last they were situated and Napoleon flipped the blanket over them.  “If you don’t come to bed, the bed comes to you,” Napoleon said in a heavy Russian accent.  He felt rather than heard Illya’s chuckle.

Studying the tree through a sleepy gaze, blurred by Illya’s hair, Napoleon smiled and knew that Illya, just as he’d promised, had given him the ultimate gift of all – love.  And Napoleon vowed to give it right back – hopefully for the rest of his life.


End file.
